Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the heat clinging to Sarah like a damp shroud. She slowly opened the rickety door, a groan escaping her lips. The last few months had been a relentless grind, and she felt like she was wading through molasses. The previous owners had clearly abandoned ship in a hurry.

A faded photograph lay face-down on a stack of newspapers. She flipped it over. A group of laughing children, a picnic basket, a carefree day. A pang of something akin to envy struck her.

She lowered herself onto a dusty trunk, the wood groaning in protest. The air felt thick, the space claustrophobic. She felt her resolve begin to crumble, wanting to curl up and sleep.